I’m about to say that to Hector when I notice a shift in his expression. He grows quiet as the brunette elf girl ushering the lineup looks at us funny. I choose to ignore her. Shouldn’t elves be all smiles and no sass? But it is cold out here and maybe she’s had a rough night. It can’t be easy wrangling a bunch of overtired children into smiling for a camera with parents insisting on retakes.
That’s when I realize it’s not just any brunette elf: it’s Natalia.
Nothing like running into your maybe-date’s ex while drunk and giddy off your ass.
“Hey there,” Hector says, his quietness qualified. Only this time I don’t see him self-consciously digging around in his pockets. He’s standing tall, broad shoulders pulled back. It’s a sign that maybe this won’t kill our evening.
“Hello,” she says, high-pitched and elf-like. Not letting on that this is awkward.
“Good to see you, Nata—” I start.
“It’s Twinkle the Elf,” she proclaims with a curtsy, and then leans in for a whisper. “Can’t spoil the illusion!”
“Right,” I say, nodding.
Hector clears his throat. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Santa always has to travel with a few elves for holly-jolly support,” she says, really committing. I don’t know what to say to that. “Speaking of, it’s your turns to see the big man!”
Slightly uncomfortable and totally off-balance, we shuffle over to the throne.
Santa welcomes us with open arms,ho-ho-ho-ingand all that. Hector and I step around to opposite sides of his chair.
“I remember you both when you werethis big,” Santa says, gesturing with his hand to a height even I can’t remember being. “You were both cuter then.”
“Not all of us get to stay the same age forever,” Hector shoots back.
“Magic will do that for ya,” he says. Upon closer inspection, the beard is real, the belly is real, and so are the rosy-red cheeks. He’s a perfect Santa, all suited up. “Have we been hitting the eggnog this evening?” he asks. He must smell the alcohol on our breath.
“Hope that doesn’t get us put on the naughty list,” I joke. Hector looks at me conspiratorially. My heart does a spin, a twirl, and for the grand finale, a cartwheel. Perfect tens all around from the still-drunk judging panel inside my head.
“Oh, please. What do you think Santa does in the off-season?” he asks. “Now, what do you boys want for Christmas this year?”
Hector doesn’t even hesitate before saying, “I’d really like to get to see my family before the spring semester starts. I’m away from them right now, and I’d just…really like to be with them for at least some of the holiday.” I can hear the complicated emotions fighting for dominance in his voice.
Santa reaches a white-gloved hand out to him. A moment passes before Santa replies, “There’s no greater gift than family. I’ll do my best.” He turns to me. “And what about you, young man?”
I puzzle over this, wondering how I can follow that up without sounding shallow, materialistic, or jaded. Quickly, I decide on: “I’d like to feel settled and sure of my future. Be able to find my own way for once.” Vulnerability knocks the wind out of me as Santa winks. That was more truth than I intended to share, but I suppose alcohol will do that to you.
“That gift,” Santa says, oozing sage warmth, “has always been inside you.” He taps his nose as if to illuminate his magic.
Unsure what to say, I smile and nod at Santa before we all turn in toward the camera. Natalia counts down from three and snaps a photo that prints out immediately.
Still sorting through Santa’s cryptic yet reassuring message, I watch as Natalia inspects our picture for a tenuous moment before handing it to Hector.
I’m surprised to see her doe eyes filled with something akin to sweet understanding. She leans in again so no one else can hear. “You two look very nice together.” She angles in to Hector, squeezing his elbow through his puffy jacket and dropping the act. “I’m happy for you both.”
It’s clear she’s seeing what we’ve been avoiding. What Scrubs saw at the nursing home. What Wendy assumed moments ago.
There’s no more time for denying the obvious. I think Hector feels the same because he says, “Thanks,” before smiling shyly at me.
A newfound sobriety comes over us. We walk slower now, slipping into the Candy Cane Forest that loops and turns at various intervals. It’s getting later and later and the smaller children are filtering out.
Hector pulls his beanie tighter over his head as a fake-snow machine pumps bubble bath leftovers into the air around us. A little movie magic sprinkled into real life.
We’re more keenly connected than we were earlier today. I can sense our chests swelling and shrinking with the same anticipatory rhythm. Our heartbeats add a drum-line remix to the swinging jazz staple coming out of the plentiful speakers.
Once I build up the courage, I say, “Santa can only do so much, so I hope we pull this off and I can help you get home to your family.” It’s a full honesty bomb dropped between us.
